Something Permanent
by Prynne
Summary: A raid unearths new evidence of Ari's amorality, saddling Ziva with a new responsibility that may ruin her burgeoning relationship with Tony.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **[insert standard disclaimer here]

* * *

_Something Permanent_

* * *

_There are various eyes. Even the Sphinx has eyes: and as a result there are various truths, and as a result there is no truth._

_-Friedrich Nietzsche_

* * *

"I want s'thing permanent," Ziva slurred her confession into Tony's hair.

Their bodies were curled into each other, naked, in his bed. They hadn't done anything. Neither of them was in the mood.

They'd finally weathered a violent, emotional monsoon of a murder case that had ended in a volley of bullets that claimed the lives of two agents from another team. After around of drinks with McGee, Tony hailed them both a cab to his apartment where they stumbled through the door and urgently tumbled into the cocoon of Egyptian cotton sheets. They'd scraped away their armor and nestled into each other's arms, desperate for the warmth of someone they each believed understood the war waging inside of them.

Eventually, he rolled over and looked at her. "Are you sure you wanna have this conversation now?"

She leaned in. "Now's good," she mumbled against his lips.

Tony pulled back, brushing a stray curl from her face. "Get some sleep."

He turned away, but she grabbed his chin and forced his eyes to hers. "I want something permanent," she repeated, almost forcefully. "Is that too much to ask?"

He winced at the raw honesty simmering in her eyes and it terrified him. The truth was something that started off as comfort—just comfort, he told himself—after a similar case was growing into more, rapidly maturing after each clandestine trip to the movies or random restaurant rendezvous. He'd desperately tried to avoid it, but something inside of him was weakening. He found foreign words on the tip of his tongue when he was close to her. The words threatened to spill out and he often ended up biting his bottom lip to keep the floodgates closed.

He wriggled out of her grasp and rolled away, focusing on the ceiling. "Where's this coming from?"

"Rachel Cranston."

Tony groaned and rubbed the burgeoning headache rapping at his temples. Ah, good 'ol Dr. Kate's Sister. Way to stir the emotional cesspit, Doc.

Kate came to mind, then.

It had been seven years since Ari Haswari fired off the shot that had stolen Agent Caitlin Todd from the team and her loved ones. Tony visited her grave every anniversary, sometimes accompanied by McGee and Ducky. Gibbs kept his distance for the most part and Abby ironically refused to darken the cemetery. She argued Kate would want her to celebrate, not stand in front of a tombstone and bawl her eyes out. Gibbs, on the other hand offered, no explanation for his sparse visits.

Not that he had to.

They all knew how he felt.

Tony continued to stare up into the darkness while Ziva watched him, their conversation having evaporated into a dense silence.

"You did not answer my question."

He sighed. "No, it's not too much to ask."

"Too much to give, then?"

He glared daggers at the ceiling rather than at her. "I'm not having this conversation with you when you're drunk."

"I am not drunk!"

"You're not sober."

"How can you tell?"

"Your mask's off."

"I thought we agreed to stop pretending."

"Pretending, yes. Deluding ourselves? No."

She jerked herself up against his headboard. "So I am delusional because I want something permanent?"

Tony cringed. He'd hurt her. "That's not what I meant," he scooted up next to her. "It's just…rule twelve, remember?"

"I think we have sufficiently broken that rule, yes?"

"If Gibbs finds out…it'll kill the team."

"So the team is more important?"

"Yes. No! Isn't it? God," he ran his fingers through his hair. "You're one hell of a buzz kill."

"Sorry," she shook her head. "I get emotionally philosophical after five beers."

"You had six."

"Exactly."

He groaned.

"You do realize we have to have this talk at some point?"

He groaned again.

"After everything you've been through these last few years, commitment still frightens you? I would think you would dive head first into something lasting, something that can't be pulled out from under you."

Her earnest gaze annihilated his defenses. "What if I don't wanna be pulled out from under someone else?"

James Brown shattered their moment. Ziva scowled as Tony fumbled for his ringing cell phone on the nightstand. She arched her brow.

_Paid the cost to be the boss. Look at me. Know what you see? You see a bad mother…_

"James Brown?"

"Black Caesar, one of my favorites," he shrugged and hit 'talk'. "Yeah, Boss? Fornell wants us to do what? After _tonight_? Ending the interrogation, Boss. On my way."

Seconds later, Ziva received the same call. "Fornell's tracking Bassam? _Ari's _Bassam. Yes…Yes…I will be right there," she hung up and stared numbly ahead.

Tony stooped to pick up his pants, but stopped when he noticed her. "You okay?"

She slumped forward and sat on the edge of the mattress, feeling pain coil around her heart and squeeze. "Fine."

"Now who's pretending," he headed over to her side of the bed and eased down next to her, careful to wait until she solicited his touch. "Is it about Bassam?"

"You know him?"

"Yeah, I 'know' him. Bassam and his merry band of terrorists stuffed Kate in a Mini-Cooper—which was torture enough! —and helped Ari imprison her on a farm in Who Knows Where, Virginia for a few hours. The asshole smacked her around a bit too."

"Sounds like him."

"Gonna make me beg, huh?"

"He murdered Tali. Bassam and his 'merry band of terrorists' were responsible for the suicide bombing."

"I'm sorry."

She silently leaned against him and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, looking down into her lightless eyes. "Why's he still alive, if you and Ari knew..?"

"Because my father," she shrugged away his touch and stood up. "Thought it would not be…strategic…to kill him."

"Luckily you don't work for your father anymore."

With that, both agents quietly and efficiently sprang into action. Clothes flew onto backs and cell phones into pockets and after a quick jolt of coffee, they scattered separately into the night and into their next complicated case.

* * *

Two hundred fifty miles away, a young housewife gently navigated her SUV up the narrow driveway of the Carrington's farm, careful not to further upset the embarrassed boy in the backseat. She rolled the Volvo to a stop and turned around. Asa Carrington stared out of the window, watching the wind buffet the red maple trees on the edge of the property.

"Ace? Come on honey, let's get you inside so you can go back to bed."

Wordlessly, he climbed out of the car, grabbed his backpack, and ambled toward the house.

"It's okay, sweetie," the young woman squeezed his hand. "You're not the first person to have a nightmare and wet the bed."

He kicked an invisible pile of dirt. _Bet I'm the first to do it at your house_, he grumbled inwardly.

"Thanks for bringing him home," Samira Carrington stepped onto the porch seconds after the boy had knocked. "I'm sorry for the trouble."

"No problem, Sam," the woman waved off the other's apology and ruffled Asa's wayward curls. "Accidents happen."

"Mm-hmm," she reached forward and yanked the boy to her side. "Thank you again for bringing him. I really appreciate it."

Mrs. Joey's Mom turned to leave, though not before coaxing a promise out of Asa to "have the good sense not to feel bad". Though he'd nodded, he found himself wishing she had "sense" too. If she did, she probably would have "sensed" she was leaving a defenseless child with the reincarnation of Joan Crawford.

"I'm sorry Mommy…"

Samira was "sensible" enough to wait until the SUV had receded into the night before her hand, reacting to that wretched term, hurled out. Asa's bottom lip split, the red blood swirling around his full mouth and mixing with the orange remnants of the icing from Joey's cake. His eyes welled with tears, but he remained silent. He knew better.

"Samira!"

Just as she was about to strike again, Asa was suddenly tucked against his aunt's body, his face pressed into her side. "_Hel jennet_? Are you crazy?" Aunt Nada hissed.

"That woman could've seen Bassam!" she shouted in her British public school accent.

"I've told you about striking him," Nada ignored her excuse and stroked the boy's hair. "_Eda kan 'ela qeyd alheyah ya akhey_…"

Samira rolled her eyes and scoffed it. "Sod off! 'If your brother were alive' I wouldn't be in this mess."

"Are you all right, _Habibi_?"

He nodded jerkily as she wiped his lip with her yellow blouse. "Yes, ma'am."

"You coddle the boy, Nada," Bassam sneered, abandoning his hiding place in the dark kitchen. "He'll grow up to be weak, just like this father."

"My brother was not weak!"

"Your brother was a spineless, incompetent fool who got himself killed over a senseless grudge and an American whore."

Nada snuck a glance at the boy. "Not in front of the child."

"What is it that you are staring at?" He snatched Asa away from Nada and hurled him up by his pajama shirt. When Asa's eyes widened and his lips clinched up, Bassam shook him. "Well?

The hazel eyes flashed before Asa wisely put them out and looked away. "Nothin', sir."

"Have you forgotten the rules?"

He shook his head. "No whining, no crying, no backtalk, no eye contact, no bringing trouble to the door," he recited monotonously. "No…"

"That's enough!" Bassam shook him again and bore into his eyes. "Just like his mother's," he jeered, smirking around the boy's head at Samira before setting her son on his feet.

She looked sick for a moment before her eyes clouded and froze into their usual frigid blue. "Bed. Now."

"I'll tuck you in," Nada took his hand and guided him to the stairs.

"_Heda jenwen!_ This is nonsense. What part of 'time is of the essence' do you not understand?"

She eyed him woefully. "I just want to say goodbye to him."

"Fine," he snapped, though his face softened a bit. He looked down at his watch. "Two minutes."

"Thank you."

* * *

"Do you really have to leave?"

"Yes," she tugged his comforter up so it sat right below his nose. "You will be fine."

"How long will ya be gone?"

She looked away. "I can't say."

Asa groaned and turned his face toward the wall.

"Don't be like this, _Habibi_," she squeezed his leg through the quilt. "I eventually come back."

" 'Eventually' is grown up for 'a really long time'," he mumbled into his pillow.

"I'm sorry Asa, but look," she reached into the pocket of her jeans. "I have two gifts for you."

He slowly propped his elbow on his pillow and rested his cheek on his palm to get a closer look.

"First, this," she held out his favorite chocolate bar. "So you don't have to sneak into the kitchen while she's asleep."

"Thanks," he took it and dropped it in the crevice between his bed and the wall. "What else?"

"This," she reached into her other pocket and unearthed a black velvet pouch. "This is something very important to me, something very special and irreplaceable."

"No, I'll just mess it—"

"—Shh," she pressed a finger to his lips before standing up and lightly closing the door. Satisfied they were alone, she pulled out the thin gold chain. "This was given to me by someone very special, someone who I loved very much. It is supposed to bring blessings and protection to whoever wears it. I want you to have it."

Asa's eyes bulged at the subtle Star of David dangling at the end. "Aunt Nada—"

"I know you can't wear it, but keep it with you. It will keep you safe when I can't."

"But what if Mom—I mean, Samira—finds it?"

"Make sure she doesn't."

He was already cradling it to his chest. "Won't you need it?"

"Not where I am going."

"Time is up," Bassam called at the end of the stairs.

"I love you," she leaned over and planted a kiss on his head before standing up. "Be good."

"How are you getting out? Are you gonna hide in the forest?"

"Bassam has a car by the creek."

He nodded and tucked the necklace under his pillow. "I'll miss you."

She nodded and opened the door. "_Leylh s'eyedh ahelam as'ed. _Goodnight and sweet dreams."

And then she was gone.

* * *

Gibbs watched them out of the corner of his eye.

He knew Tony like the back of his hand. A father and son sort of link, connected by badges instead of blood. Same with Ziva. Though the foundation of their bond _had_ been forged by blood.

Her brother's.

The members of his team rarely drew a breath he didn't know about. Their lives depended on it. So when he observed the furtive glances and loaded conversations shared between them, Gibbs wondered if they thought he was blind.

Or senile. Yes, probably senile. He had to be a doddering old fool not to notice the symptoms of "To Close to Breaching Rule Twelve-itis" festering in their interactions.

"All right," Fornell's voice shook Gibbs out of his reverie. "Time to move in. Remember, I want Bassam alive," he looked pointedly at Ziva. "I want this as neat as possible."

Carrington Farm was located at the end of a windy road in New Castle, Virginia, two hundred fifty miles outside of Washington DC and at the foot of Jefferson National Forrest. Most of it was arable land, save for the goat pens and a few storage sheds. Its inhabitants, Samira Carrington and her son Asa, lived in a blue ranch house with a lush lawn in the front and a verandah for lounging in the back.

A renowned reproductive endocrinologist and fertility expert, Samira Carrington dropped off the face of the Earth after her successful practice was blown up. Her father reported his pregnant daughter missing, only to have Sam contact him to tell him she didn't want to be found.

She bought the farm for its solitude and so that her son could grow up with ample space to explore. She raised goats and various crops, making a living by selling goat milk, cheese, and the different foods she cultivated at the local farmers' market. Though Asa was home schooled, he participated in various extracurricular activities around the county.

None of the above was a crime, of course. Fornell didn't work for the Department of Agriculture nor did he care about the migration patterns of terrified fertility specialists. He was, however, interested in the pounds of explosives he suspected were hidden in one of the storage sheds. That, and he and his team managed to track Bassam, a Hamas with a horrifying knack for blowing up things, to Samira's land.

They would get him this time and hopefully, through a special brand of questioning, extract Bassam's nefarious plans for the bombs.

"The kid?" DiNozzo's voice crackled over the bug in Gibbs' ear.

"He's at a sleep over," Fornell responded. "Okay, Team Gibbs take it from the west. We'll move in from the North."

Unfortunately, the raid was fruitless. Bassam and Nada had escaped with the bombs. They'd found Samira sprawled out in the living room, having decided to put a bullet in her head rather than be hauled in for questioning.

"Sorry Ziva," Fornell regarded her sympathetically. "I know you were hoping for some quality time with Bassam."

She shrugged. "I will canvas upstairs."

DiNozzo glanced at Gibbs, who nodded gruffly, before jogging up the stairs behind her.

* * *

"You did not have to follow me," she pushed open Samira's bedroom door. "I'm fine."

"I know. I just wanted to go through her underwear drawer."

She scowled. "Nice, DiNozzo."

Their silent search of Samira's bedroom was as unsuccessful as the raid. Ziva moved to return downstairs, but Tony nodded at the boy's door. He smiled at the 8x10 sheet of paper announcing it as "Asa's Room" in red, childish scribble.

"Maybe they hid some of their terrorist treasure in there."

Ziva shrugged. It wasn't unheard of. Turning a knob, she exposed a room that held a basic twin bed and a six-drawer chest. The space was small and dark even with the overhead light on. Soccer and basketball posters lined the bland white walls. There was a desk with an old computer atop of it pushed against the wall and a short bookshelf packed with worn books.

"I'll check the closet," Tony delegated. "You check the drawers."

He slid open the white doors and peeked in, only to have his heart constrict at the sight that greeted him.

The boy, who he assumed was Asa, had curled himself into a tight ball, his forehead touching his knees and an arm covering his face. He made no sound, just rocked himself like a colicky baby. A thin gold necklace was snaked around his knuckles.

"Asa?"

The little head shot up and Tony almost crashed under the weight of the wide, unseeing eyes.

The boy's gaze was empty as a picked pocket, but _those eyes…_

Tony scrubbed his face and when he removed his hands, he was still confronted with the profane sight of Caitlin Todd's eyes nestled in Ari Haswari's face.

* * *

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews, subscriptions, and hits. I'm very grateful!

* * *

Tony remained stalk still, unable to focus. Man, he could use a shot—no, a gallon—of something to take the edge off. The Ari connection alone was enough to drive him head first into a deep abyss of booze, but those damn eyes… Those damn eyes in that _bastard's_ face.

Yup, an ocean worth of booze was definitely in order. Bourbon. No scotch. Lots of scotch. Tragically, as much as his sanity was hankering for a tidy little fortress built of Bowmore and spicy Montecristos, he reckoned the stench of booze and cigars oozing from his pores would earn him more than a head slap from Gibbs.

Sighing, Tony rummaged through his stash of courage and began an attempt to coax Kate's—alleged, very alleged—son out of the closet. As he stooped down on one knee, he snuck in a quick prayer to Saint Jude—the Patron Saint of Desperate Causes and NCIS agents who were in over their heads.

"Asa?" he tried again.

The child continued rocking, lips moving like scissors, the shards of his frantic whispers gliding through the air. Tony pushed a benign hand forward, hoping to coax the child out, but the boy recoiled further into the darkness. His tiny hand jutted up to shield his tear stained face, but just as quickly as it sprung out, he resignedly clasped it around his knees and shut his eyes.

Ziva gasped. Tony hadn't even realized she'd come up behind him. He reached up and squeezed her hand, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

But really, what does one say to ones partner when she encounters the ostensible son of her very, very dead brother and the woman he murdered? Congratulations? Shaking his head, he made a note to consult the scripts of several Lifetime movies of the week for advice.

* * *

Ziva David, trained to anticipate and neutralize an assortment of surprises in the field, fell gracelessly into the bookshelf behind her. Pulling herself upward, she barely registered Tony's hand slide into hers as she moved closer to the closet.

She realized there was no amount of conditioning that could've prepared her for…_that._

The boy, with his split lip and swollen nose, was Ari in miniature. Save for his eyes—Agent Todd's eyes. What the hell had her brother done?

Ziva groaned. Apparently Ari's innate capacity for sickening behavior had endured well beyond his passing. _Great_.

"You don't have to protect yourself from me," Tony cajoled. "You're safe. Take my hand and I'll pull you out…"

Ziva watched as Tony reached for him again, careful to move slowly. Asa recoiled and kept his eyes closed, preparing himself for whatever form of cruelty he was certain Tony had in store.

"You're okay," Tony repeated. "Nobody's gonna hurt you."

Ziva's eyes trailed to the necklace coiled around the boy's left hand. Her breath caught as realization struck, cold and violent. She knew that necklace.

She was wearing it around her neck.

* * *

"I'm Tony, she's Ziva. We're here to help," Tony said gently. "Everything's okay."

Slowly, Asa forced his eyes open and although they had cleared, the boy still regarding him with raw suspicion. He glanced at Tony's other hand, checking for signs of a trick. Ever observant, the agent tucked it behind his back.

"_Aheda men fedlek_," Ziva chimed in. "You will be okay."

The boy's eyes—Kate's eyes, d_ammit_—widened at Ziva's use of Arabic. Tony observed with baited breath as Asa snuck an appraising glance at Ziva. Finally, he gingerly took Tony's hand and allowed himself to be pulled into the light.

"There ya go," Tony guided him over to the bed. "Let's get you—hey! We've got a runner!"

Thankfully Ziva's ninja reflexes managed to kick in before the boy could dart out of the open bedroom door. She quickly lurched forward, catching a fistful of his t-shirt in one hand and his wrist with the other.

Ziva lifted him up, trying to hold him still as he thrashed and kicked his feet. She pressed him onto the bed and held him down with both hands, her voice tender and reassuring. The boy had stopped struggling slightly, his energy draining, perhaps realizing he was no match against an adult, but it was abundantly clear that he would make a break for the door if Ziva loosened her grip.

"Uh…yeah…so, I'm gonna go update the boss," Tony moved for the door, but turned around before leaving. "You sure you're okay here?"

She nodded, still gripping the boy's shoulders.

* * *

Gibbs was standing at attention at the bottom of the stairs, his steel blue eyes fixed firmly on Tony as the senior field agent scurried down the steps.

"Find anything upstairs?"

Tony pulled off his NCIS cap and scratched his head. "Uh…you could say that."

Gibbs remained silent, his blue stare jagged as a steak knife. "Care to elaborate, DiNozzo?"

"Ya know, this is one of those awkward moments when you realize you have absolutely no words to explain a situation..."

Gibbs resisted the urge to shake the man like a broken vending machine, as if doing so would dislodge the information wedged in Tony's dry throat. "DiNozzo…"

His words tumbled out in a rush: "ThelittleboyupstairshasKate'seyes."

Gibbs furrowed his naturally arched brows. "Wanna try that again?"

Tony shifted his weight back onto the heels of his Gucci shoes and balanced there, his features solidifying into seriousness. "I think you oughta see for yourself, Boss."

Gibbs eyed him quizzically and took a sip of his ever-present coffee before following him upstairs.

Tony pushed open the cracked door to "Asa's Room" to reveal Ziva sitting on a twin bed, flipping through a tattered comic while a dark haired child stared stonily through the pages as if they were transparent. Ziva looked toward the door and nodded at the men before leaning over and whispering to the boy.

The boy turned at stared at Gibbs, barely blinking.

So _that's _what Tony had meant.

Kate's eyes nestled repugnantly in Ari's face.

The memories suddenly clawed at his mind, tearing open old wounds. Images of Kate laughing, bantering with DiNozzo, her stealthy leap in front of the bullet meant for him, her lifeless eyes and black hair spread across the asphalt like spilt tar, the neat little dot in the middle of her forehead and the bloody cape trailing behind her head—all oozed together into a gory mosaic. He pawed at his eyes and blinked as fast as he could, trying to scourge away her face.

When his vision unclouded, he realized he was standing in front of the boy. The child was staring woodenly at the comic in Ziva's lap. His mouth—Ari's mouth—was swollen, a patch of dried blood staining the left corner.

"Hi Asa," he kneeled in front of the boy. "I'm Gibbs."

Slowly, he inched forward only to have Asa flinch and slam his eyes shut, indubitably bracing for a fist. Gibbs inched his hand back and placed it in his pocket. "Sorry about that. I should've asked before I got too close."

Asa's posture stiffened as he peered at the man through his fingers. Gibbs remained stark still, watching him benignly. Slowly, the boy lowered his hands and Gibbs was relieved to see his eyes had defrosted a bit.

"That's some split lip you've got there. Mind if I take a—"

The boy turned his face away, squeezing his eyes closed even tighter. "No! Go away!"

"It's all right," Gibbs watched as Ziva laid a hand on Asa's shoulder. "This is Special Agent Gibbs, my boss…"

"Make him go! Make him go!" His voice was fraught as he clasped his hands over his face. He stared at the wall as he screamed, his eyes lost and unreachable.

"Asa!" Ziva reached for him again, but he slipped away and bolted for the door.

Thankfully Tony managed to catch the boy by the arm and spin him into a hold, though his grip ended when Asa stuck his teeth into Tony's outstretched wrist. The boy slid down to the floor and pushed himself against the wall. Pulling his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around his legs, he rocked himself like a ship on turbulent waters.

"Boss, maybe we should go…"

Gibbs' eyes hovered over the boy. The hard edges of his face softened, his words lost in the fullness of his throat. He straightened and shook his head sadly before finally following Tony out.

* * *

Ziva narrowed her eyes at the door before kneeling down, eying the child who was still rocking himself and whispering into his knees.

"Listen to me," she said, careful not to touch him. "You are safe. Nobody is going to hurt you."

Slowly, he released his vise grip on his eyes, wincing from the pain his nails had left. He surveyed the room, seemingly relieved to find himself alone with Ziva. His hands fell limply into his lap and he stared straight ahead, gripping his necklace.

"Asa, please look at me." That got him to raise his eyes, but he focused them on her forehead. It would do. "That is a very beautiful necklace."

Pressing it tightly against his chest, he snarled. "It's mine!"

"I am not going to take it. I have one of my own. See," she lifted the pendent away from her chest so he could see it. "I gave one just like mine to someone very special. Did someone special give you yours?"

He blinked up at her and she saw something approaching recognition on his face. Abruptly, his pudgy fingers found their way to her necklace. He focused on the Star of David, tracing the six points with his tiny pinky.

"Can you tell me who gave it to you?"

He continued to fiddle with the pendant.

"Did your mommy give it to you?"

He shook his head frenetically. "She doesn't know I have it," his southern accent swelled around his words. "Please, _please _don't tell her! It'll get Aunt Nada in—Oh no! Bassam! If Bassam finds out about all this he'll be really, really mad. He'll take it out on my Aunt Nada!"

"Is Aunt Nada your father's sister?"

"Yes!" The tears streaked uncontrollably down his face as he squeezed the necklace. "Please! You have to make sure Bassam doesn't hurt her! Or worse, if Gibbs…"

"Why are you afraid of Agent Gibbs?"

"He's a very bad man! He…he," his voice caught. "He killed my daddy!"

"Who told you that?" she treaded lightly, careful not to telegraph the simmering emotions pressing at her throat.

"Can't say! I already said too much! It's 'gainst the rules," he mumbled without making eye contact.

"Who made the rules?" Ziva asked gently.

He shrugged and stared at the necklace.

"Did your aunt Nada give that to you?"

He nodded cautiously, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "She said it was for good luck! But now she's with Uncle Bassam and she doesn't have any good luck to protect her. What if she ends up like Samira? What if Gibbs gets her like he got my Daddy Haswari?"

"Gibbs would never, ever hurt an innocent person."

"Even Aunt Nada?"

"Even your aunt Nada."

"Even me?"

"Especially you."

He looked skeptical. "Are you sure?"

" _I _will not let anything happen to you or your aunt Nada," she answered earnestly.

"Promise?" he whispered back.

"I promise."

"You're name's Ziva, right?" When she nodded, he dropped his eyes down to his knees. "Miss Ziva…that gunshot I heard…did it…did it get...is she dead?"

She squeezed his shoulder. "I am sorry."

"I'm gonna get taken into care, huh?"

"Into care?"

He nodded dolefully. "That's where bad kids go when their parents die or don't want them anymore. That's what Mommy—I mean, Samira said—" he abruptly stopped speaking as though he used up all the words he owned.

Ziva suddenly found it hard to breathe. The small, dark haired child, hunched dejectedly against the wall, had triggered an unexpected surge of memories of a lost, dark haired man. A broken man blinded by hate and abandonment, a man angry because he was unwanted and unloved.

The child looked up at her, imploring Ziva with his big eyes and protruding bottom lip to give him something to hold onto.

"How would you like to see Washington DC?"

"Is that where you're going?"

"Yes."

He allowed her to pull him up off the floor. "Can I leave a note for Aunt Nada, ma'am?"

"Lets worry about that after we get you packed."

He nodded and moved for his dresser. Stopping short of opening a drawer, he turned away from her and bolted into his closet. She could hear him rummaging around and after a few moments, he returned with a sketchpad tucked under his arm.

He bowed his head woefully. "I couldn't leave without it."

She nodded and reached for him, but he instinctively flinched away. She closed her palm and turned back to the dresser. "How about you pick out the things you like."

"Kay. Umm, Miss Ziva?" he mumbled into his chest, unwilling to meet her gaze.

"Yes, Asa?"

"You should 'prolly look by the creek 'cause Aunt Nada told me Uncle Bassam hid his car down there."

* * *

After getting Asa settled in the back of the Charger, Ziva wordlessly ambled to the edge of the property's front lawn. She watched as the intense night winds unleashed their fury on the surrounding cluster of trees. The sharp gusts ripped through the branches and absconded with a few of the leaves, releasing their green bodies about the property.

She dug her fingers into her nails, hoping the pain would hinder her ability to remember the sick thud of Ari's body hitting Gibbs' basement floor. She didn't even hear Tony push open the screen door and walk through the grass to join her, barely felt his fingers curl around her shoulder.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw his probing glance dissolve into a condoling stare. "Are you okay?"

"I am fine, Tony," her mouth moved to say more, but only breath came.

"Really?" he asked nonchalantly as he tugged at his tie. "Could've fooled me."

"Would not be the first time."

He jerked to attention and released his tie, his brows knitted together in a frown. He cleared his throat and tilted his head. "And look where that got us."

His tone was light, but there was a vacuum that would definitely suck her in if she didn't watch herself. "I was thinking."

"About?" his voice probed.

Ziva searched for the wrong words, the words that would give him nothing to hold onto. The right words, brimming with a truth she wasn't prepared to spill, swayed in front of her. She blinked them away.

"Ari."

"Somebody's been warping that kids' brain with Ari themed fairytales—and Gibbs is the Big Bad Villain."

"Of all the sadistic things he could've done…"

He sighed and stared straight ahead. "We don't know for sure."

She whirled on him. "He has her eyes, Tony!"

"Like Gibbs told Kate, 'eyes lie' "

"Yes, but DNA tells the truth."

Thankfully McGee picked the perfect time to join them. "Tony, Gibbs wants us to canvas by the creek for tire tracks. He told me the little boy was upstairs the entire time. Poor kid probably heard the whole thing."

"You weren't thinking about Ari, were you?" Tony barreled ahead, refusing to give her a reprieve.

She wanted to scoop his eyes out with her fingers.

McGee's blue eyes bounced between his colleagues before he furrowed his brow and poked out his bottom lip. "So it's true…"

Ziva scratched at the chill rising around her neck. "I was thinking of Tali."

That caught Tony off guard. "You don't think…"

"What else am I supposed to think?" she asked hotly. "The necklace is a carbon copy of the one I gave Tali for her fourteenth birthday, Nada is supposed to be Haswari's sister, her name means dew drops in the morning in Arabic, and Tali means morning dew in Hebrew," she ticked the reasons off on her fingers.

"Coincidence?"

"Rule number 39: there are no coincidences," the words were out as quickly as Ziva had walked away.

McGee's eyes widened as he watched her climb into the back seat of the car. Spinning around, he leveled Tony with a glare. "Nice, DiNozzo."

"That was a race horse conversation, Probie. No McJackasses allowed."

McGee shook his head as he followed Tony in the direction of the creek, grateful he wasn't on Ziva's shit list.

* * *

The ride back to DC was surprisingly placid. McGee had alternated between watching Asa through the rearview mirror and updating Gibbs on his findings by the creek. Tony had tried to coax Asa into playing a few levels of Angry Birds, but he just stared ahead.

For the entire journey, the little boy sat slumped against the door, almost as if he planed to yank it open and tumble out. He stared impassively at the back of the Charger's passenger seat. Every once in awhile his little body would quiver and he would survey the car with quick, darting eyes. Ziva assumed his sight was turned inward. Ari used to retreat inside of his mind, riveting himself in his private shelter from reality.

Ziva reached over and took one of his tiny clammy hands. If he was aware of her touch, he gave no sign of it. He just stared expressionlessly ahead, his nose pointed forward like the bow of a naval ship. Gingerly, she released his hand and snaked a tentative arm around his stiff shoulders. He flinched at the gesture, but after a moment, relaxed into her grip.

"You're safe now," she said into his hair.

Kate's sad, lost eyes just stared up at her.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

**Next: ** Vance and Ziva disagree. Gibbs turns to an upset Abby and DNA for answers. Ziva confides in Tony.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so very much for all the reviews, subscriptions, and hits!

* * *

"I just can't Tony…" Abby opened her mouth, and snapped it closed with a sigh. She laid her head on his shoulder. "When Gibbs explained it…"

Tony rested his head on top of hers. "I know."

The two huddled in the center of Team Gibbs' section of the bullpen, watching Asa color with McGee at Ziva's desk. It had taken some serious energy on Ziva's part, but she managed to convince the boy to stay downstairs while she, Gibbs, and Fornell met with Vance. McGee had wheedled Asa out of his shell, drawing the child into a conversation about comic books. Abby had remained uncharacteristically taciturn around Asa, barely introducing herself before she and Tony took refuge near Gibbs' desk.

"It's just so…hinky! I know Ari was a diabolical bastard, but how could he…"

"In the Solar System of crazy, Ari was the sun. Don't get burned trying to figure out his reasoning—"

"Not _that_ 'how'! I mean 'how' did he and Samira Carrington get a hold of Kate's eggs. I know Dr. Carrington's work. She was on the front lines of some seriously innovative reproductive endocrinological feats and she probably would've done more if her practice hadn't been blown up. I just wanna know how she got hooked up with—never mind!" She fanned away the line of questioning with a gloved hand. "This is just so messed up. Gibbs wants me to run a DNA test on the kid, to be sure he's…_theirs. _Does he…does he even know about Kate?"

"Nope," Tony popped his lips at the end of the word. He frowned when Asa began chewing on the end of his pen—the way Kate used to. He turned away. "He knows all about Gibbs though."

She perked up "Gibbs?"

He nodded. "Somebody's been spoon-feeding him kiddy rhetoric. He thinks Gibbs killed his father. Poor kid flipped out when Boss got close."

Gasping, she clasped her hands over her mouth. "Poor Gibbs," she mumbled into her fingers. "This has to be killing him!"

"Ya think?"

She was too agitated to catch his sarcasm. "Uh…yeah? Think about it. How would you feel if Michael Rivkin's son miraculously showed up on your doorstep with Ziva's eyes?"

Ruffled, Tony turned away and focused on McGee and the boy. Tim had leaned over and whispered something in Asa's ear. He flinched, but slowly, as if afraid to, his lips curved up and formed a tentative smile.

"Look Tony," Abby nudged him, her eyes haunted and doleful. "Kate's dimples."

Tony winced at the eyesores disguised as neat little depressions in the chubby cheeks.

Yeah, he really needed a drink.

* * *

Meanwhile, a Cold War was raging in Vance's office.

"He has a right to know, Ziva."

"Really?" she folded her arms and glared at the director. "Which right is that?"

"Tali's death broke—"

"No, Tali's death broke my mother," she interrupted hotly. "All it did for him was solidify his cause."

"That isn't fair," Vance reasoned softly. Shaking his head at the roadblock that had become her eyes, he leaned forward and pressed his hands on his desk. "Your personal relationship with your father isn't my business. I respect that. However, Eli and I—"

She swished her hand dismissively. "I know all about your…connection…with my father. Listen, I will make sure Asa complies with the FBI's investigation, but I will not sit by and watch Agent Fornell treat my sister like a criminal and I refuse to allow my father anywhere near that boy."

Fornell squeezed the bridge of his nose attempting to fend off a burgeoning headache. "Look, we're not certain that Nada is Tali…"

"All I have to do is show the boy a picture..."

"…and even if it is her, the way I got it, she went with Bassam willingly."

"Never take anything for granted, Tobias."

"What was it DiNozzo said about racehorse conversations, Jethro?"

Gibbs shrugged. "You were the one eavesdropping on my agents' conversation. Besides, the jackass is the one who assumes."

"You'll have to forgive me if I don't think your omniscient gut is universal among your people," Fornell rolled his eyes and turned back to Ziva. "Now, listen, I'm not unsympathetic, but you have to admit, even if this Nada character's your sister, her cover was pretty deep. I called you there because of the Ari and Bassam connection. Tali David wasn't even a blip on my radar. Either way, if she's tied up with Bassam, then Nada —"

"Her name is Tali!"

"All right," Vance stood up. "Let's all calm down. Fornell, Ziva's offered you her cooperation. Accept it. As for Eli…"

"I will not allow you to sacrifice that boy to maintain your bromance with my father!"

Vance drew back, though no one in the room knew if he was surprised by her outburst or that she knew what a bromance was. "Careful Agent David."

She sighed and nodded. "Apologies, Director. Just know, if my father gets his hands on Ari's son, you are asking for history to repeat itself."

Vance popped a toothpick in his mouth. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he focused on Fornell. "What happens to the boy?"

"It's a sticky situation. Per Virginia law, Asa Carrington is Samira's son, biology be damned, because the surrogacy wasn't approved by a circuit court order…"

"It wasn't approved by Kate, either," Gibbs quipped.

"Now that Samira's dead," Fornell continued, "Guardianship of the boy'll probably go to WITSEC and the US Marshall service because he's technically a material witness in a Federal case."

"That's a fancy way of saying foster care."

Fornell nodded at Gibbs. "Yes, possibly out-of-state depending on the availability of a local WITSEC foster placement. That is unless Ziva decides to take him."

Ziva's face stilled and smoothed itself into an unreadable expression. " 'We will cross that bridge when we come to it'. For now, the boy needs rest.."

And with that, she left the room in search of her nephew and a colossal sized cup of coffee.

"Ziva! Slow down!"

She stopped just short of the landing and whirled around, ready for the confrontation. As soon as she looked at Gibbs, the wind left her sails. The raw compassion in his eyes forcefully buffeted her mask until it crumbled.

"I am not sorry about the message, Gibbs. I meant it. I will not let Fornell or the director throw Tali and Asa under the wagon. However, I could have delivered it differently. "

He could accept that for now. "Abby's already testing the boy. It'll take time, but she may be able to lift some DNA off that necklace to shut Tobias up."

"All right. Oh and Gibbs," her voice was hesitant. "The way the boy—his reaction to you—ahem, you should not have to account for my actions."

He tilted his head and dispensed a piercing look. "And you don't have to account for your brother's."

Ziva tasted his words on her lips. She didn't like the flavor, but she nodded anyway.

Gibbs clung to Ziva's gaze a moment before giving her shoulder a parting squeeze and moving on down the stairs.

"McGee! I want everything on Carrington. If she so much as ran a stop sign, I wanna know about it." Gibbs ordered when he reached his desk. "Ziva, you and Asa get some rest."

"I'll drive them," Tony volunteered.

"You running a taxi service I don't know about, DiNozzo?"

"No, Boss! Just figured we shouldn't subject the kid to Ziva's driving. He's been through enough."

Gibbs mulled it over, nodding curtly when he realized DiNozzo had a point.

Tony stood and threw his sports jacket over his shoulder like a runway model. He glanced at Gibbs, who was scrutinizing him with a doctor's eye, in search of symptoms. Turning away, he watched Ziva coax a possessive Asa into relinquishing his necklace over to Abby to "clean". Afterward, Tony scooped up Asa's backpack and the three of them headed for the elevator.

* * *

The ride to Ziva's apartment had been relatively silent, save for the jazz playing on the radio and the light gurgle of Tony's latest car's engine. He had stolen glances at Ziva from the rear-view mirror, watching with mixed emotions as she stroked the curls of the sleeping child in her lap. After finding a spot in front of her building—thank you St. Otto, Patron Saint of parking spaces—he jumped out to help Ziva as she tried to maneuver the boy from the backseat without waking him.

"I got him," he eased Asa out of her lap and hefted him into his arms. Thankfully, he didn't stir. Slowly, the scrawny twigs masquerading as legs automatically wrapped around Tony's waist, and the little head burrowed into the crook of his neck. He rolled his eyes benignly at a smirking Ziva. "What?"

She shrugged as she slung the boy's Spider-Man backpack over her shoulder and shut the car door. "You are a natural."

He grinned. "I have many virtues, sweet cheeks."

"Besides being a professional Asscap?" she started for the stairs.

He frowned, following her lead. "Ass_hat_ and have you been surfing Urban Dictionary on company time? 'Cause Gibbs frowns on that, ya know."

After a short elevator ride, she unlocked the door and led the way to the bedroom. "He can have my bed. I will take the couch."

Tony laid the boy in the center of the double bed and tugged off his worn sneakers, while Ziva tucked the blankets around him. "No sense in waking him to put on pajamas," she said, running a hand over Asa's forehead.

"You think he'll wake up freaked out?"

"I hope not. I explained everything to him before we left NCIS. Well, almost everything. He should be all right."

He nodded and moved for the door. "Need me to stay?"

She seemed to ponder the question before quietly nodding.

It wasn't until they sat down on the couch with beer bottles in their hands that Tony noticed her furrowed brow and grim expression.

"Wanna talk about it?"

She sighed. "I should have kept a closer eye on Ari."

He took a sip from his bottle and flicked on the television. "Not your fault."

"Actually it is," she knocked back the rest of her beer and sank into the couch's plump cushions. "It is my most unsatisfactory feature: I place my trust in the wrong people. I take the wrong people for granted."

"No, you expect the people closest to you not to let ya down. That's not a fault, it's an intrinsic right."

"He was more than my brother. I was his control officer. It was my job to manage and contain him. I should have known what he was planning—"

"—Shoulda, woulda, coulda—didn't," he reached over and took her hand. "You were responsible for Ari the agent. You weren't responsible for his rogue choices or the man he was."

Ziva stared into her lap and shook her head. "No, that would be my father. Vance wants to tell him about Asa and Tali. I will not allow it."

"What'd Gibbs say?"

"Not much. He did suggest letting Abby test the necklace for DNA to shut Fornell up. To be honest, I think he is still in shock. I cannot say I blame him."

"Abby put it in perspective for me. She asked me how I would feel if one of Rivkin's spawn popped up with your eyes…"

"…or how I would take it if Jeanne's showed up with yours."

They were silent for a beat. Tony removed a coaster from one of her coffee table's drawers and rested his half empty bottle atop it. "What happens to the kid?"

"He is a material witness in a Federal case. Fornell mentioned placement in a WITSEC foster home."

His spine straightened. "We'd," he cleared his throat. "_You'd_ never see him again."

She abruptly stood up and started pacing in front of the couch. "Unless I assume guardianship. Which, I might add, is a cross-eyed idea…"

"I think you were going for cock-eyed there, homes."

She stopped in front of him. "They are the same, are they not?"

"Crossed-eyed, as in convergent strabismus, when both eyes…"

"Oh, put a pipe in it!"

"Nah, too easy."

"You're using your deflection skills to calm me down…"

"I only use my powers for good," he smirked. "How am I doing?"

"Horribly," she started pacing again. "I cannot take him. I am the _last_ person who should be caring for an emotionally damaged child."

He leaned forward and pulled her onto the couch. "Don't sell yourself short."

"The DNA results have not even come back. This could all be a mute point."

"Moot."

"Whatever."

"Ya know, denial isn't just a river."

"I seem to recall you being a little skeptical as well."

"I never said we weren't in the same boat."

She rubbed her temples and shook her head in bewilderment. "What do I have to offer him, Tony?"

"I won't insult you with clichés and platitudes. But I'll say this: that kid trusts you."

"He bonded with me because he is terrified of Gibbs and he bit a chunk out of your arm. He seemed to get on with McGee."

He ignored her dismissive tone. "No, he drew stick figures with McGee. He lets you get close. It's not like magnets and metal. Abused kids don't throw trust around willy-nilly."

"Willy-nilly?"

"Point is: he saw something in you."

"He deserves more than I can give."

He appraised her with those probing, infuriating eyes. "Are you protecting him or yourself?"

She couldn't bring herself to lie to him. "I do not know."

"Well, whatever you decide," he slung an arm around her shoulders. "I've got your back."

* * *

Gibbs sat in the darkness of his basement, watching through its small window as dawn slowly made itself available to the sky. He hadn't been able to sleep. For hours, he'd sanded and sawed, eyes alternating between the boat and the sun slipping up and nestling into the enticing spring sky.

He worked, an untouched bottle of Gentleman Jack at his side, navigating through the jungle of his memories, fighting the much-needed sleep as it threatened to overpower him. At one point, he stopped and took a swig, the shadows of the amber liquid playing off the room's thin light. He felt the burn in his bones as the liquid snaked around his memories and coaxed them out.

_Why me, Gibbs?_

_Why did I die instead of you?_

He could see her clear as day: The hole in her forehead like a third expressionless eye, the indignation and betrayal contorting her features. It had taken time, but he'd made peace with her death and with her. He could think about her without the guilt and anger seething in his gut.

Until that boy stared up at him with her eyes and Ari's contempt.

"Gibbs!"

One minute he was reflecting—not brooding, his pride insisted—and the next he had his arms full of Abby and a mouthful of black hair.

"Oh, Gibbs, it's just awful," she mumbled into his shoulder. "If he weren't dead, I'd kill him myself. Actually, I'd kill him, resurrect him and kill him again, but the Catholic Church frowns on unsanctioned resurrection and murder. Jeez Gibbs, why would he do…"

"Don't know, Abs," he pulled away and moved for the bottle. Sighing, he poured a taste in the small Mason jar and devoured it in a single pull. His face fell at the sight of her puffy eyes and red nose. "I'm sorry you're hurting, Abby."

"It makes me sick," she growled, launching herself over to one of his workbenches. Deciding not to sit down, she began pacing the basement, her gloved hands flying like angry bats. "I tested the hell out of that kid, to be absolutely, ya know? I took a pen he was chewing—he chews the tips of his pens, Gibbs! Just like her!"

She paused in front of the bottle of whiskey, but thought better of it and resumed her frenzied march.

"So I extracted twelve genetic loci from him and tested them against Ziva and Kate's archived DNA profiles. In order for Kate to be his mother, half of his DNA fragments had to match hers. Then I tested the same fragments against Ziva's. Since she's Ari's half-sister, Asa would only share twelve and a half percent of his DNA with her…"

Gibbs continued to sand has she rambled.

She stopped pacing and tilted her head upward, as if seeking divine guidance. "His _theirs, _Gibbs! What are we gonna do?"

_Theirs. _Gibbs' felt his stomach churn. "What's right."

Her eyes flashed. "How are we supposed to know what's right when this is so wrong?" she exclaimed. "How could he…how could he have been such a _sadist_? It wasn't enough to kill her so he violates all us again by stealing her eggs and leaving behind a living, breathing mnemonic of his—gah!—this is just so _wrong._ Did he even think about what would happen to the little boy, how people would treat him because of his father's crimes?"

"I don't think that bastard thought beyond the scope of his self-righteous indignation."

"Meanwhile, Ziva's left with the caring and feeding of—

"He's a victim too, Abby."

Her eyes softened. "I know," she sighed. "I _know. _It's just so hard—you know?—to look at him…"

Oh, he knew all right. "I understand."

"It's not your fault, you know that, right Gibbs? What happened to Kate, her so—the little boy, Ari's death: it's not on you."

He stopped sanding and when he turned around, he did his damnedest to make sure he didn't look as hollow as he felt. "I know."

She assessed him silently. She knew bullshit when she saw it. Instead of challenging him, she engulfed him in another hug. "I know you're not a fan emotional displays of well, emotion...but I want you to know that should you break character: I've got two well oiled listening ears at your disposal."

"I know that too," he leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"Well, I guess I'll let myself out…you know, since I let myself in," she moved for the stairs. "Try not to drink the whole bottle."

"Get some sleep, Abby."

With a parting smirk, she ambled up the stairs and disappeared from the basement.

Once he heard the front door shut, he ambled upstairs and straight to his landline. "Morning, Doc. Listen, I need a favor…"

* * *

Thanks for reading!

**Next: **Ziva and Asa bond. Tony brings by some news.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks for the reviews, subscriptions, and hits. I'm always grateful for your support. I re-wrote this chapter multiple times. I think I'm [finally] satisfied with it. I hope you all enjoy it.

* * *

Asa knew he was dead.

At least, he would be, if he didn't get out of there.

He surveyed Miss Ziva's bedroom, cringing at the mess he'd made. He'd balled up her soiled sheets like Kleenex and frantically strewn them about the room when he realized the laundry bin was too full. A yellow puddle the size of Paraguay had seeped into the brilliant white mattress and would surely leave a stain.

Yup, he was dead.

Sure, Miss Ziva had been nice enough. She'd asked him if he was hungry—he knew to say 'no', in case she was testing him—and she'd hugged him during the ride to NC…whatever it was called. She would ask him to look at her when she talked and even pretended to be hurt when he didn't. Even better, she hadn't hit him yet!

It was only a matter of time, though. Ladies could go either way. Aunt Nada was always safe, but Samira? Asa shook his head as he shimmied on his jacket and stuffed his beloved sketchpad in his pocket. No, he wasn't gonna stick around long enough to find out what kind of lady Miss Ziva would be.

The living room was dark, save for a slice of dawn peeking in through the windows. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the light seeping from beneath a closed door. He'd have to be careful. Samira used to hide too. Last time she'd caught him out of his room, he'd gotten The Belt. He cringed, remembering the hot lashes digging into his back, the welts sprouting up like sizzling mushrooms on his skin.

He tip-toped across the carpet, craning after each step to make sure Miss Ziva was out of sight. Along the way, he tripped over his stupid shoelaces and collided with one of the end tables near the sofa. He whirled around, grateful to find himself alone.

When he finally reached the door, he immediately lurched onto his tippy-toes and went to work on the security chain, gingerly sliding it across the track. He'd reached the final lock on the handle, his hand clenched around the knob, when the living room light sputtered on.

* * *

Ziva soaked in the tub, growing more anxious as time pushed forward. She tried to enjoy the rose scented bubbles, but she couldn't coax her mind into relaxing. The misgivings rippled in her stomach. Despite the warm water, every muscle in her body had managed to tighten themselves into knots.

What the hell was she thinking?

She had absolutely no business taking in that boy. Sure, she wasn't completely inept with children. Many felt at ease with her for reasons unbeknownst. However, children required stability and guidance. They needed attention and time. Emotionally damaged children like Asa Carrington needed more than that—far more than she could give.

Yet, as Tony had pointed out, the boy was beginning to trust her. As new as it was, she was growing to enjoy their burgeoning bond. The idea of WITSEC whisking him off to parts unknown was disconcerting to say that least.

Nevertheless, Asa deserved a good home. He needed parents who could devote their resources and themselves to his healing. At this point in her life, she knew she was inadequate at best.

Then there was Tali. The boy was their only lead and those blasted "rules" were like super glue on his lips. Soaking in the water until he cooled, she struggled to wrap her mind around the idea that her sister had been alive—and hiding from her—the entire time. She lowered her head into the water, trying and failing miserably to decide which was worse.

She leaned back against the cold porcelain and closed her eyes just as there was a sudden whump from the living room. Ziva launched out of the tub, kicking out the stopper, and flung on her robe as she pelted into the living room.

Flicking on the light, her stomach lurched as she saw Asa on his tippy-toes, fumbling with the front door handle.

"Asa?"

Startled, the boy screeched and flinched away, tripping over his untied shoelace when she reached for him. He scrambled into a fetal position, throwing up an arm to shield his face. When Ziva made no other movement, he timidly lowered the limb and turned his face away.

Ziva pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to fight back _the impending headache__._ What the hell had she gotten herself into?

She squatted in front of him, her palms up and visible. "Asa, please look at me." When he turned and stared numbly at her chest, she sighed and continued. "You are not in danger. I am not upset."

He blinked, clearly unconvinced.

Ziva swallowed and glanced at the clock on the wall. "How about we have this conversation over breakfast?"

"Not hungry," he mumbled only for his stomach to growl in protest. He shot up, eyes wide and daunted. "Sorry!"

"I think your stomach has other ideas," she smoothly ignored his apology and eased a hand out to him. "Come on, you can get cleaned up while I cook."

The boy regarded her hand charily, even stealing a glance at her feet, likely in search of a trick. She held herself still, smiling reassuringly. Gingerly, with his eyes still on her feet, he filled her palm with his and held on to the lifeline she offered, allowing himself to be pulled upright.

"Now, why don't you explain—" she guided him toward the kitchen, only to stop when she noticed the soaked seat of his jeans. "Asa, did you have an—" She stopped when he flinched.

Slowly, his gaze migrated up to her face as he wrenched his hand away. He regarded her dully, his eyes devoid of emotion. "I'll clean it all up, Miss Ziva" he said flatly. "I'm sorry."

"That is why you were trying to leave?"

His eyes widened. "Sorry! I tried ta it clean it up, honest! I'll wash the sheets and I'll scrub the mattress. I dunno the rules here, but I promise, if ya tell them to me, I'll 'member them. Please…"

"Shh," she gingerly reached for his cheek, effectively silencing his frantic tirade. Though she was not at all surprised when he flinched away. "I will handle the mess. It was an accident. I am not upset"

His cheeks reddened and he turned away. "Sorry."

"There is nothing to be sorry about."

He glanced at her hands. "You're not gonna punish me?"

"Over an accident? Of course not!"

He gave her the skeptical glance she was starting to expect from him. Again, she offered him her hand and a reassuring smile. Warily, he accepted the gesture and let her lead him to the bathroom.

"Do you know what you would like to wear?" she scooped his backpack from the floor and began rummaging through it.

He shrugged and propped his thumb in his mouth, only to yank it out and jerk both hands behind his back. "Sorry, I forgot!"

"What?" she asked, genuinely confused.

He bowed his head. "Not 'posed ta suck my thumb. Its 'gainst the rules."

Biting her lip, she kneeled down and tucked two fingers under his chin. "Look at me," as usual, he focused his eyes on her chest instead of her face. "We left those rules at your house in New Castle. We do not use rules to hurt people here. You are safe with me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled.

Ziva sighed. "One day you will actually believe me. Go ahead and pick out your clothes while I run..."

"NO!" he shouted, causing Ziva to take a few steps back. A haunted expression devoured his face. "No baths!"

"Okay," she replied calmly, grateful for her phlegmatic mask. "How about a shower?"

Shaking his head, he turned away and began rummaging though his backpack. When he stood, he clutched his faded red t-shirt and olive green cargo shorts against his chest. "Shower's okay," he murmured.

She nodded and pushed open the door to the bathroom. Checking the temperature of the water, she started the shower and smiled down at him. "How do you feel about pancakes?"

He grinned. "I love—" His eyes clouded and darted away, no doubt remembering one of Bassam and Samira's blasted rules. "I mean, yes ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

Suppressing the urge to correct him, Ziva offered the boy a benign smile before stepping out and closing the door.

Moments later, a dressed Asa stepped into the kitchen. "Miss Ziva, I put my clothes in the laundry bin in the bathroom…if that's okay…"

"Perfect," she smiled. "Sit down. The pancakes are almost ready."

"Kay," he eased into one of the chairs at her small table. "Thank you for cooking for me. I know I don't da-serb them 'cause I…"

She frowned at his mispronunciation as she wondered what else those bastards told him he did not deserve. "Nonsense, everybody deserves a treat every now and then."

He lowered his head and peered at her through the curtain of curls that dangled over his forehead and obstructed his eyes. "Not me," he muttered into his chest.

She turned away from the stove. "Who told you that?"

He jolted up. "Nobody! I…um…the pancakes smell really, really good."

She knew better than to push him on that front. Instead, she decided to ask about something else, _someone_ else. "I used to eat pancakes with someone very special when I was younger."

His eyes lit up. "Me too! My aunt Nada makes me pancakes sometimes. My mom—I mean Samira—I mean—" he closed his mouth with a pop and turned to stare out of the kitchen window.

"It is against the rules to call Samira 'mommy', yes?" Ziva asked as she transferred their breakfast from the skillet to a serving platter.

"Can't talk about the rules," he fidgeted and looked away. "Anyways, when she tells me ta 'bugger off', Aunt Nada would…"

"Bugger off?"

He frowned. "You know, like 'go away'…Mommy—I mean, Samira—talks different 'cause she's from Birmingham. Not the Alabama one, but the one in the UK. She used ta have what Aunt Nada called a Brummie accent, but people used ta tease her for talkin' funny so she fixed it. Ya know, you talk funny too—" he slapped his hands over his mouth and slid his chair backwards, ready to run. "Sorry! I didn't mean—"

"You are not the first one to notice," she winked at him. "Tony gets a hit out of pointing out my poor use of American slang."

"Miss Ziva, I think you meant Tony gets a 'kick' outta teasing you."

"Oh," she tilted her head and grinned. "See! I told you."

He nodded, a tentative smile lifting the left corner of his mouth.

"Now, finish telling me about your Aunt Nada."

"She always made me breakfast when she could. I love her strawberry pancakes. She puts whip' cream on 'em an' she even makes her own strawberry syrup ta put on top!"

"Sounds yummy. I hope mine are half as good," she eased his plate down in front of him and sat beside him. "Well, as Tony puts it 'dig in'."

Asa didn't need to be told twice. He leaned over his plate and crammed the food in his mouth in large bites, hardly chewing it before swallowing it quickly. He reached for the glass bottle of milk she'd sat in the center of the table, but hurled his hands back to his lap when he caught her watching him.

"Sorry!"

"About the milk?" she asked evenly. "Here," she took his glass and popped the cap off of the bottle. "Tell me when to stop."

"There!" he smiled shyly and pulled his full glass back to his plate. Taking an eager sip, he grinned, exposing his dimples. "This tastes just like the milk at home! Aunt Nada hates milk that comes inna carton. She always buys this kind."

"Asa," she treaded lightly, watching him continue to inhale his meal. "When did you last eat?"

"Yesterday," he answered quickly.

Too quickly.

"Were you hungry when we brought you to NCIS yesterday?"

"Uh-uh! 'Member? You asked me an' I said 'no' 'cause I had dinner at Joey's birthday party."

"You do know, that when you are hungry, you can always ask for something to eat, yes?"

He nodded into his plate.

She frowned at the lie. "It is not against the rules to ask for something to eat."

"Yes ma'am," he wrapped his arms around his chest and rubbed his sides, focusing on his lap. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize," she reached over and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Just remember."

"Mmkay. I mean, yes ma'am."

"So your Aunt Nada used to make you pancakes?"

"Yup," he said around a mouthful of syrupy goodness. "She loves ta make 'em on rainy days."

Ziva felt her chest tighten. "Really?"

"Uh-huh. She said her big sister used ta make 'em on rainy days," he held his glass with both hands and chugged.

Ziva's heart stopped as she went into overdrive to steel her features. "What was her sister's name?"

He dropped his fork in his plate. "I'm not 'posed ta talk about her. It makes Aunt Nada sad."

"Why?"

" 'Cause her sister's dead'. She died before I was born-ded. Umm," he glanced at her through his curls. "Have you…have you heard anything about Aunt Nada yet?"

"Not yet," she sighed as his shoulders slumped. "But we are looking. We will not stop until we find her, Asa."

He looked up from his plate. "I believe you."

She felt a warm surge through her heart as she tousled his hair. "Finish up."

They ate in relative silence after that. When he'd finished, he insisted on helping with the dishes. She turned him down, but his crestfallen pout quickly changed her mind. Watching him fill the sink, Ziva leaned against the kitchen table, on standby, ready to prevent Monsoon Asa from ravaging her kitchen.

She found herself surprised by his meticulous efficiency. He diligently scrubbed each plate and glass before speedily placing them on the drying rack. From her position she could almost make out her face in the center of the sparkling dinnerware and cutlery.

Ziva bowed her head as the anger washed over her. She was no psychiatrist, but she knew that sort of methodological productivity at his age was borne out of a need to survive. It sickened her to think of what sort of punishment had waited for him at the other end of failure.

A rhythmical knock that sounded suspiciously like the Pink Panther theme song brought her out of her reverie.

Tony.

"Good morning, partner of mine," he smirked when she flung open the door. Without waiting for an invitation, he sauntered into her living room like he owned the place. Draping his coat over the couch, he arched his brow when he caught sight of Asa scouring the counters around her kitchen sink. "Uh, Zee…why's the kid going medieval on your kitchen surfaces?"

"He insisted. Why are you here?"

"Apparently to catch you using," he brought his voice to a confidential pitch. "..._your nephew_ for domestic drudgery."

"Abby gave you the results?"

"Well, technically she told Gibbs who later barked them at me after he ordered me to scoop you guys up," he continued to whisper. "But really, Doctor Obvious could've told—Oh, hey there Asa."

" 'Ello," he mumbled into his chin. "Uh…Miss Ziva, I'm through with the dishes."

"You did an excellent job. Thank you for _volunteering_," she looked pointedly at Tony. "That was very polite."

Blushing, Asa swiped the toe of his worn Spiderman sneakers across the carpet.

"Would you mind doing me another favor?"

He shook his head jerkily.

"Would you mind watching cartoons in my room while Tony and I talk?"

"I can clean up the mess in there…"

"Just throw everything in the bin."

"The one by your wardrobe?"

"That one."

"Mmkay," he turned on his heel, but stopped mid stride. "Uh…Mister Tony?"

"Tony's fine, kid."

Asa scrunched up his nose. "I'm not 'posed to call adults by their first name. It's 'gainst the…"

"Remember what we said about the rules, Asa? It is great that you respect your elders, but if Tony says it is all right, then it is polite to call him what he wants to be called."

"Yes ma'am, sorry ma'am."

"You are not in trouble and Ziva's fine."

"Yes ma—I mean, Miss Ziva."

Something told her she wasn't going to get him to drop the prefixes with one conversation. She waited for him to continue, only to find him watching her, no doubt waiting for her permission to speak. Only when she nodded did he raise his eyes to Tony's chest.

"Mis—I mean Tony," he started haltingly "Well…uh…I wanted ta 'pologize for bitin' you. It wasn't nice. I was scare-ded an' I'm…I'm sorry!"

Tony flashed a high voltage grin at the hurried purée of words, pleased to see the Kate-like righteousness beneath his timidness. "Hey, no worries kid. You were just defending yourself. I know I would be scared if two strange people showed up in my room."

"I'm used ta strangers. Uncle Bassam always has guests—" he quickly closed his mouth and his ears reddened. "I—I better go now. Thanks for forgivin' me Mis—I mean, Tony."

Once he heard the Sponge Bob theme song, Tony let out a whistle and shook his head. "They really did a number on that kid..."

"Yes, I am aware. He tried to escape earlier…"

Tony sighed. "Guess it's a good thing Doctor Gibbs' Lady Friend is meeting us down at NCIS for a chat then."

"Maybe Ryan can get him to talk about those ridiculous rules."

"Even better, she can get him to squeeze out some fresh intel on our 'ol buddy Bassam and his 'guests'. And speaking of intel, McGee got us something on Samira Carrington. She and Ari were old college buddies," he wiggled his brows. "With benefits."

"She and Ari dated?"

"On and off for two years while they were at Edinburgh. According to their old classmate Doctor Martin Sedwick," he cleared his throat and tacked on his best impression of Received Pronunciation. " 'They were quite serious before he left her high and dry.' Like your brother, she was 'utterly brilliant' however, she could be 'reticent to the point of cold aloofness. A bit dodgy, that one.' After their nasty little break up, she finished her education in the states at Johns Hopkins while living with her American father."

"So she helped him violate another woman out of the goodness of her heart?"

"Well it wasn't out of the goodness of her wallet. Her practice was very successful. He must've offered her something he thought was better than money…"

Ziva scoffed. "Yes, probably himself. Was she really that desperate?"

"Hey, desperation makes for some crazy times."

"You would know," she smirked. "So, Kate was a patient?"

"Uh…if she was, she wouldn't have told me. The only eggs I'm interested in are the over easy variety. McSearch-a-Lot said Samira's records—including the backup servers—were destroyed in the explosion that sent the good doctor into hiding. Gibbs is bringing in Rachel Cranston. We're hoping she can fill in some blanks."

"This has Ari written all over it. Dammit," she slammed her fist against the back of her couch. "I should have paid more attention."

"Hey," he picked up her hand and examined her red, angry knuckles. "What'd we say about the 'shoulddas'?"

"Had I kept a tighter leash on my brother, we would not be in this mess. If I had, maybe I would have known Tali—"

"Speaking of Tali, " he interrupted, attempting to steer her away from her guilt. "Did you show Asa her picture?"

"No. I suppose the necklace will have to do for official identification."

"Well, Abs says that could take a while. She has to screen the skin cells on the necklace, extract and isolate the female organic fractions of DNA, and then determine how much DNA there actually is…"

She gave him the side-eye. "How do you know all that?"

He tugged his earlobe. "She kinda bellowed it into the phone after I politely asked for an ETA."

"You do not do polite."

"No, I do charming."

"No, you do smarmy."

"Hey!" he barked playfully. "I didn't come here to be insulted, _Miss_ Ziva."

"You are a glutton for punishment and you know it."

"Yeah, well," he kissed her knuckles and grinned. "So, why not just show him the picture?"

"I was going to over breakfast, but after his nightmare and…"

"What happened?"

"He thinks I'm dead."

"Come again?"

"He thinks I am dead. Well, not _me_, but Nada and Haswari's 'other sister'. Showing him the picture may encourage him to ask for answers he is too fragile to hear. Tali told him I was dead…"

"Zee…" he squeezed her hand.

"She makes him pancakes on rainy days," she barreled ahead, ignoring the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. "The way I used to do for her. She told him about me…"

"Why does that surprise you?"

"We were not on the best of terms at the time of her…um, passing. She was disappointed about my volunteering for Mossad. She did not approve of me following in our father's footsteps. She saw what it cost him and she did not want the same for me. She thought…she thought I cared more about pleasing _him_ than anything or anyone. There are times when I believe she was right."

"She loved you."

"Apparently not enough to tell me she was alive. She did not trust me because of my blind faith in my father."

"Which begs the question: what was she hiding?"

Ziva scrubbed her face with her hands. "I am not sure I even want to know. I just want to see her, but if Bassam…I cannot do this now," she backed away from him and moved for her bedroom. "I will explain everything to the boy. You can wait in the car.

Tony hesitated and from his expression, Ziva _could tell he wanted to say more_ but instead, he flash her one of his patented misleading grins—the one he used to hide what was underneath. "Yes'um Miss Ziva," he tipped an invisible top hat. "I'll be waitin'."

She stared at the freshly closed door a beat before entering her bedroom. "Asa, come on we have—what are you _doing_?"

He practically jumped out of his skin as he tore himself off of the bed, were he had sprinkled what she'd hoped was baking soda over the stain on her mattress. "I'm…"

"I thought I told you _I_ would handle it."

His head jerked down at her sharp tone. "But it would leave a _stain_..."

Ziva sighed and moved toward him only for him to lurch against the wall. "I am not angry. You are not in trouble," she repeated the mantra that was slowly becoming a theme in their relationship. "I was just…frustrated."

"I'm sor—" he shut heis mouth and turned away, assuming apologies were futile at this point.

She started for him again, this time with her palms up and flat. "Why did you use baking soda? Better yet, _where _did you get it?"

"I took…took it…from under the bathroom sink," he stuttered, fiddling with the button on his shorts. "Aunt Nada showed me. You're 'posed ta mixed it with hydra proxcide an' spray it on, but you didn't have none so I used the powder to take out the stinky smells."

"Hydrogen peroxide and baking soda, hmm?" she smiled at the memory of her mother's favorite stain remedy. "That was very nice of her, teaching you how to clean it up yourself."

He nodded vigorously. "Yup, that way Uncle Bass—" he crushed his fist over his mouth and cowered further into the wall.

She slowly crouched in front of the boy, keeping her palms up and close to her chest. "Your _uncle,_" she hissed, turning the word into an epithet. "Was wrong to punish you for having an accident. You do not have to sneak around while you are here. Thank you for cleaning up, but you did not have to hide it from me. Next time you make a mess, we will handle it together, yes?"

"Yes ma—I mean, Miss Ziva."

"Now," she reached out to him tentatively, as if the gesture were a question, and when he didn't tense or flinch away, she gave his belly button a poke through his t-shirt. Standing, she dusted off her cargo pants and smiled down at him. "We should not keep Tony waiting," she moved for the door, only to stop when she felt a warm sensation in her hand. "He tends to whine after a few minutes."

Without being prompted, he'd filled her palm with his own. He shot a quick, wary glimpse up at her before he dropped his gaze to the floor. When she squeezed his hand and winked, he gave a wavering smile and squeezed back.

With a parting glance around her bedroom, one thought came to mind.

Maybe she could do this.

* * *

Thanks for reading!

**Next:** Sam Ryan evaluates Asa. Gibbs updates Rachel Cranston, who later can't tell Ziva needs to hear. Ziva, Tony, and WITSEC clash.


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